


Helping Hand

by thedevilchicken



Category: Frey & McGray Series - Oscar de Muriel
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathtubs, Blow Jobs, Clothed/Naked, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:26:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28139148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: When Frey doesn't answer the door, McGray breaks in and finds him in the bath. Things escalate more quickly than expected.
Relationships: Ian Frey/Adolphus "Nine-Nails" McGrey
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Helping Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [linndechir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/gifts).



He hadn't planned it. For an unsurprising number of reasons, he _really_ hadn't planned it. 

Firstly, it was fucking absurd. It wasn't that he didn't find Frey attractive, at least when he took the gigantic stick out of his arse, and frankly even when the stick remained firmly in situ he still had a certain irritating something about him. Handsome but insufferable men had crossed McGray's path in sufficient numbers over the course of his life that a disagreement between head, heart and cock didn't take him by complete surprise: his head said, "you have to work with the tosser", his heart said, "I'd rather my cock literally dropped off than think about him that way"; and his cock said, "yeah, but maybe I could drop off _in him_?" But even if the three most downright essential parts of his being had been in perfect accord, that didn't change the fact he'd've bet on Frey fleeing south of the border sooner than letting McGray get south of _his_ border.

So, he hadn't planned it. If he had, he probably wouldn't have got his suit quite so wet. 

No matter where they go or what they happen to be there for, Frey always seems to end up in a bathtub. Granted, McGray thought, this time they were actually still in Edinburgh. Granted, he hadn't needed to see him with _that_ great an urgency, because the fella whose demise they'd shortly be engaged in investigating had met that demise a good ten years prior. Still, he'd barged into Frey's townhouse when his persistent door-knocking had been comprehensively ignored - he'd known the prissy arse was in, and McGray knew nobody in their right mind would accuse him of an excess of politeness, so it couldn't come as much of a shock to Frey's delicate sensibilities. But he'd expected he'd find him reading a newspaper or writing a letter or staring longingly at his own fucking reflection, and there the stuck-up English sod sat, chest deep in murky bathwater that smelled like a summer day in the damned botanic garden. 

Frey looked up. To his credit, to his very limited credit, he managed to look imperious rather than embarrassed and he didn't clutch his flannel over his private parts like neither of them had ever seen another man in the altogether. Maybe Frey hadn't, of course, except for himself and an indeterminate number of corpses down in Reed's morgue. In fact, McGray suspected that was likely the case.

"Really, Nine-Nails," Frey said, his tone snide-edged and disapproving despite the faint flush in his cheeks. "Did you break in? Tell me you didn't break in."

McGray crossed his arms as he stood there in the doorway, where he was propping the door open and possibly letting all the warm air out completely on purpose. "What if I did?" he replied, and he raised his eyebrows and he cocked his head.

Frey narrowed his eyes. "Then I'll send you the bill for the door."

McGray snorted. "I bet ye would at that," he said. Then he kicked the door closed behind him - it gave a whoosh of air that made Frey shiver, much to his satisfaction - and then he went closer. He gestured at the bath and at the water in it, turned milky grey-white by something probably too posh to mention. 

"Honestly, I don't ken the appeal," he said. 

"Perhaps that's because your behemoth of a body wouldn't fit into the tub." 

"Perhaps I just don't relish the thought of sitting neck deep in my own filth. Is that something Englishmen do often?"

"I tend to wash myself beforehand to avoid that unpleasant eventuality," Frey replied, with a haughty scrunch of his face, then he huffed out an irritated breath. "It's not about _cleaning_ oneself, McGray. It's supposed to be relaxing."

"Ye don't look very relaxed."

"Well, no. A great lummox of a Scot seems to have burst in and rudely interrupted me." He made a face and waved awkwardly at the water. "Under normal circumstances - those circumstances being _alone_ \- this would feel quite pleasant." 

McGray frowned. He drew a chair across the room, Frey's face taking on a satisfyingly unhappy twist as the legs of it shrieked on the floorboards, and he sat himself down beside the tub, the outside of one thigh pressed up against it, facing Frey. Then he dangled one arm over the side and swished his hand about in the first few inches of oddly fragrant water. Then his fingers brushed against something not far beneath the surface and Frey turned a rather fetching shade of puce. Realisation did not take long to set in.

"So _that's_ the appeal!" McGray said, grinning. "All these times you insist on your la-de-da bath time and it's all so ye can have a crafty wank?"

Frey looked thoroughly scandalised by that insinuation, so McGray sloshed his hand down again and this time he wrapped it around Frey's erection. It had an effect on Frey somewhat akin to a lightning bolt: his hands, which had been settled there so nonchalant along the sides of the tub, gripped tight, and his back went ramrod straight. His eyes went wide and round as saucers.

"Don't _touch it_!" Frey screeched, but he didn't actually move at all. There was no outraged water-spilling exit from the tub, no petulant slapping at his hands; all he did was grip more tightly at the tub's edge until his fingertips turned white as he drew in a shaky breath. Honestly, Frey _not_ threatening to throttle him with his bare hands or fleeing the scene was more of a surprise than him getting a stiff one in a bathtub in the first place. Honestly, Frey looking at him like that, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to kiss him until they both passed out or stove his head in with the water jug, was one of the more intriguing things he'd seen in weeks, including the dead man they were meant to be investigating. So McGray gave him a slow pump with his hand and Frey shuddered, like he was sitting in a bath full of water drawn fresh out of the river and not hot enough it had fogged up the mirror up with steam. And he _still_ didn't flee.

"When was the last time ye had a helping hand, eh?" McGray asked, as his thumb was teasing circles at his tip.

"I..." Frey scowled at him indignantly. "Frankly, I don't see how that's any of your business." 

"Well that's _never_ then, I'd wager." 

Frey's scowl deepened substantially. It might have seemed comical except for the fact that McGray's cuff was getting waterlogged, so he sat back and Frey looked away and breathed in quickly, as if he expected that was the end of it; McGray, on the other hand, just took a moment to remove his jacket and roll both shirtsleeves up to his elbows. Then he put his hand straight back down into the water, straight back down between Frey's bare thighs, and gave his balls a slow, firm squeeze. Frey jumped about a mile, which was to say the tip of his cock poked out past the water's murky surface; it was as flushed as his face was and McGray slipped his hand down lower, supporting Frey's bony arse with one splayed hand so even once he'd relaxed again, an inch or two of his cock jutted up out of the water. McGray leaned over, leaned down, and licked the tip. 

" _Nine-Nails_!" Frey said, now sounding just as scandalised as he looked. "What in God's name do you think you're doing?" 

"Just giving ye that helping hand we talked about."

"I hate to state the obvious but that was _not_ your hand." 

McGray grinned. He met his gaze. "No," he said. "It wasn't, was it." Then he ducked his head back down again, sealed his mouth around the tip of Frey's erection and gave a slow, hot suck. Frey proceeded to wail out loud and clutch his hair but did not, in point of fact, make any attempt to fend him off. When he sucked again, the way Frey moaned was fucking obscene. And Frey just kept on moaning until McGray pulled back. The sound he made then was a lot more like a protest.

"On yer knees," McGray told him, and the sceptical, red-faced look Frey gave him was worth a thousand words, none of which Frey himself seemed like saying out loud for once. McGray shrugged. He sat back on the chair. "Or I can leave ye to it, if ye prefer?"

Evidently Frey did not prefer. With a look on his face that was half disbelief and half dismay, he clambered around on the inside of the tub, water sloshing dangerously near the brim, till he was kneeling. When he planted one hand between Frey's shoulderblades and nudged him to bend down and lean forward against the edge of the tub, the water came up almost to the tops of his thighs but thankfully not quite; the tip of his cock dangled into the water, though, just under the surface, and McGray dipped his hand in to give it a tickle with the tips of his fingers. Frey squeaked. McGray found he rather liked that.

Honestly, though, McGray had to admit he liked a lot about the situation. With Frey facing away from him toward the far end of the bathtub, bent over with his arse in the air, it was a much more pleasant sight than the poor dead man he'd come to see him about. His skin was bright pink from the heat of the bath and slippery when he ran his right hand down over Frey's back to the curve of his arse and his own cock filled up quickly in his tartan trousers. He hadn't given much prior thought to debauching the damn fool Englishman but since the opportunity had presented itself, he wasn't about to let it pass by; he dipped his hand into the water, got his fingers nice and wet, and then trailed them down the cleft of Frey's arse.

Frey shivered, then he went stiff, then he made a frustrated noise and relaxed again. McGray ran his fingers in between his cheeks, over his hole. Frey tensed; McGray could see the way his hands gripped the tub and his muscles all tightened. Then he thought _sod it_ , or possibly _sod him_ , and turned to lean over the bath. He got one knee onto the chair and braced his other foot on the floor and leaned over Frey's arse, got one elbow to the far side of the tub and eased Frey's cheeks apart. 

It seemed like a good idea at the time, leaning down to tease the tight little pucker between Frey's cheeks with the tip of his tongue. He was all salt and soap and bath oil and he made a sound a bit like a startled dog, slipped and sloshed water up toward the brim of the tub that got all down the front of McGray's shirt and dripped onto the floor. He didn't mind, though - it seemed worth it to see Frey react like that, and then push himself back up to where he'd been. He even dipped his head down a bit lower, took a shaky breath and stuck his hoity-toity arse up. And if that wasn't an invitation to do it again, well, McGray didn't know what was.

He tongued at him tirelessly for the next several minutes, thumbing his hole open and licking inside him as Frey made all manner of noises entirely unbecoming an inspector of any constabulary. Frey seemed to be making a concerted effort to stay still but his hips kept shifting restlessly until McGray got one hand between his legs and held him firmly, balls against his palm and his fingers pressed against the skin behind. Frey made an undignified sound and rubbed his cock against the inside of McGray's wrist and by then, honestly, McGray's jaw had started to ache and his cock was making as much of a mess of his trousers as the bathwater was. So he pulled back, sat back down, gave Frey's arse a little pat then considered his next move.

There was something to be said for disproving Frey's assertion he couldn't fit in the tub, he thought, but getting undressed seemed like a lot of hassle when he'd just need to put his damp clothes back on soon after - it wasn't like he'd've wanted to borrow anything Frey had even if it would've fit him, which it definitely wouldn't. There was something to be said for sucking Frey off and then spitting his stuff in the tub just to see how he'd react, or having him sit back down and stroking him until he made a mess of the water. That didn't really help with his own current predicament, though, and there was a bottle of oil sitting on a table nearby, probably the stuff he'd got in the bath, flowery stuff that McGray wasn't sure he'd have wanted anywhere near his own arsehole but, well, Frey had been soaking in the stuff. 

"Get up," McGray said. "Get out." And for a second Frey eyed him, his face flushed and his eyes sharp, and McGray thought he might tell him to go fuck himself, except probably not in terms quite as coarse as that. They probably had some term for it, men like Frey, except he didn't actually find out because Frey did as he was told: he got up, and he got out, and he stood there next to the tub, in front of McGray, dripping all over the floor with his hard cock bobbing there between his thighs. He was so damned close that McGray couldn't resist leaning in and giving the tip a lick, and Frey shivered. He'd probably have said it was the chill in the air, but it was definitely McGray's mouth that did it.

He stood. Frey was never going to match in terms of height or bulk but standing there barefoot with his clothes off he seemed even smaller than usual. Frey eyed him, cautiously, like he was trying to decide if this was all some elaborate trick to make him embarrass himself and McGray hadn't just been shoving his tongue up his arse, and McGray thought about kissing him, seeing if that might be a step too far and the next thing he'd find himself pushed into the tub. He didn't kiss him, though; he rubbed his mouth and he looked at him and then he gestured to the bathtub, and he told him, "Bend over."

"What are you going to do, McGray?" Frey asked, that same wary look on his face. 

"If ye don't know already, ye've no business doing it," he replied. And Frey seemed to consider that, whether he believed he did know, whether he preferred to pretend he didn't, whether he wanted to tell McGray to go to hell or at least to the office where he'd be safely out of licking distance of his distinctly flushed erection. He dripped onto the floor, and he raked his soaked hair back, he eyed McGray like he'd have rather fucked his landlady than him, or like he'd rather have fucked him than anyone, and then he turned and leaned down over the bath.

McGray took the bottle of oil from the table and Frey watched him do it. Frey watched him pour some onto his hand and scrunch his face up at the flowery-sweet smell of it. What he couldn't watch was him introducing his slick fingers to his hole, slipping them between his cheeks and rubbing flatly over his rim as he felt the muscle there tighten underneath his fingertips. 

"I know ye always think yer arse smells like roses, Percy, but now it really does," he said, and Frey snorted, which incidentally also had the effect of relaxing him; McGray's first finger pushed into him and Frey made a breathy noise then swore under his breath as McGray kept on pushing deeper. He was tight, which made sense given his general demeanour, and he stiffened as McGray got his forefinger in him knuckle-deep, like somehow he hadn't been expect his bath to escalate to this even once McGray had arrived. He hadn't actually broken in, either, at least not through the door as much as by picking the lock. The valet must have the afternoon off, he supposed, though who that had left to draw the bath was a mystery, and not one McGray was particularly interested in solving. The mystery of whether Frey would balk before he could get his cock inside him, however, was a different matter.

He pulled his hand back. He undid his trousers and he freed his cock. And he didn't particularly want flower-smelling oil all over his manhood but given Frey had let him put it up his arse, he supposed he'd take the risk. He slathered it all over himself, dripping on the floor, dripping on his trousers, wondering again if he should probably undress at least a bit more than taking off his coat and rolling up his sleeves and letting his cock flap about out his trousers like some dirty midnight flasher, but the simple answer was that when he looked at Frey, he didn't feel like waiting that long. He ran the oily tip of his cock between Frey's cheeks and made him take a sharp breath in. He spread his cheeks and nudged the tip of his cock against his hole and made him huff a short breath out. Then he pushed against him, paused, shuffled, pushed against him harder, pushed _inside_ him, and Frey swore colourfully as he braced himself.

It might have been the strangest sex he'd ever had. Frey kept muttering under his breath as McGray fucked him, dragging his cock in and out of him as slowly as he could because that seemed to produce the more irascible, taut-arsed reaction, and Frey pushed back against him, making the damned tub rock slightly. It'd be just their luck to tip it over, he thought, and have to deal with bathwater coming through the ceiling and Lady Glass getting all bent out of shape about her pretty hired townhouse, but Frey didn't seem particularly bothered. He seemed more interested in arching his back so when McGray pushed in again he got in deeper. He seemed more interested in running one hand back to feel the place where McGray was entering him, rubbing his own tight rim with his fingertips as he shivered and pulled tighter. And McGray just gripped his wet hips as best he could and kept on going, though the steam and the rosy aroma in the air maybe made him feel a bit funny. Or maybe that was just the fact that he was fucking his tight-arsed partner in the middle of the day when they really ought to have been working.

When Frey wrapped one hand around himself, McGray wrapped his own hand over his and set hit pace, much to Frey's irritation - not that his irritation lasted long because forty seconds later he was gasping and rocking his hips against their joined hands. McGray could feel him almost trembling with it, the hands on his cock and the cock in his arse, as he tried to thrust forward on one stroke and fuck himself on McGray's cock the next. Then he came, suddenly, apparently taking himself by surprise as much as he did McGray because his knees went weak and his hole pulled tight and he yelped as he emptied himself all over the side of the tub. McGray, for his part, couldn't help but follow in almost worryingly short order: he thrust into him twice more, three times, cursed so loudly that Frey's neighbours might make a formal complaint if their delicate sensibilities could actually stomach putting the words in writing, and he came inside Frey in hot, light-headed bursts.

"This was a terrible idea," Frey said, while McGray was still inside him, while he was still leaning down over the tub.

"Ye'll not persuade me it's the worst ye've ever had, Percy," McGray replied, and he gave Frey's arse a not completely reassuring pat before slowly, he pulled out. He leaned over and dipped his hand into the still warm bathwater then ran his fingers in between Frey's cheeks; it wasn't much of a wash, really, and it wasn't meant to be, and when Frey made an exasperated sound and turned around he definitely still had more of McGray's come inside him than he'd managed to wash off. McGray found he liked that idea.

Frey glared at him like he wasn't entirely sure what had just possessed him. McGray smiled a bit like the cat that got the cream. And for a moment McGray wasn't sure whether Frey was going to kiss him or punch him or eject him bodily from the front door while still stark naked and smelling like roses, but he did none of the above. He turned away, and he started washing himself off.

"So, are you going to tell me what was so urgent that you broke into my house?" Frey asked. And that was that; maybe they weren't exactly back to normal, given McGray was still tucking his cock back inside his trousers and Frey was washing McGray's come out of his tight English arse, but they discussed the case like there was nothing unusual about the situation. Perhaps there wasn't; McGray found it hard to tell. And then, once Frey had deemed himself decent, they went out to the morgue.

He hadn't planned it, no. If he had, his cuffs wouldn't have been soggy and he wouldn't have still smelled like Frey's fancy bathwater when he made his way home six hours and a mile-long foot chase later. He was fairly it sure would take days to wear off. He thought Frey might like that, though, knowing him. 

He hadn't planned it, but next time he'd definitely have a plan. Frey might even like that, too.


End file.
